


Wake

by Jenwryn



Category: Death Note
Genre: F/M, Genderswitch, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-05
Updated: 2009-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mornings arrive significantly earlier than Matt would like them to. [Mafia Era, before Sayu's kidnapping etc]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeda](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Zeda).



> Written for the theme "everyday life" at LJ's [dn_contest](http://community.livejournal.com/dn_contest/), and also intended as gift-fic for Zeda. ♥

**Wake**

> _"Orkses never lose a battle. If we win we win, if we die we die fightin so it don't count. If we runs for it we don't die neither, cos we can come back for annuver go, see!"_
> 
> —commonly held Ork view of warfare (Warhammer Codex: Orks, p.49)

  
Mornings always arrive significantly earlier than Matt would like them to, and they keep close company with grumbling and mumbling into bedsheets and blankets. Mello always sets his alarm clock before he goes to sleep, but he rarely needs it; the guy is like a machine when it comes to waking up and taking on the world again. In the place where she longs to linger, somewhere between sleep and half-sleep, Matt wonders, if he'd been born in another generation, what would he have become -- explorer, pirate, profiteer. It amuses her no end to dress Mello up in her mind; tall boots and tights would suit him. She wonders, too, though, if he'd been born in another generation, would he have let her tag along the way that he does. Matt supposes she wouldn't have given him a say in the matter; she'd just have cut her hair even shorter and worn boy's clothes, and people would have whispered about _unnatural relationships._

Not that that's incredibly distant from the actual contemporary truth of the matter. Mello had fought hard to keep her away from him, but Matt can be stubborn when she wants, even more so when the only thing she that actually does want is Mello himself. And now that she's here and he's stuck with her, he likes to lay her out on the bed at night, wearing nothing at all, kissed secrets on her belly and unspoken thanks in his eyes, but he also likes that she's just one of the guys when she's outside with the Mafia men that he works with. Matt doesn't personally think that any of them would ever be interested in her, not when the mob tarts are so pretty, but Mello mumbles things against her collarbone about being better safe than sorry. Matt mutters back that she took all the same classes as he did and can hold her own in a fight, thank you very much, but she still sticks to him like a limpet, just because she can. Matt's never cared about rumours, but she likes it when she hears the whispers; it means that Mello is hers, and they know it.

Still. None of that stops the mornings from turning up long before Matt would like them to. It's a vague kind of blessing that Mello is like a machine when it comes to rising and shining; the only thing worse than being woken by Mello is being ripped by the eyeballs from your sleep by the metallic whine of an old clock. Actually, that's rather poor phrasing, because being woken _by Mello_ isn't a bad thing at all, just _being woken_ is. It's a rare morning when Matt doesn't wish she could turn her tired face back towards her pillow and snatch just a few more moments of sleep -- a few more hours would be utterly charming. Mello has this way about him, though, so that when he shakes her into consciousness, trailing his hand lightly down her bare side or shoulder, Matt tends to find herself rolling over willingly and smiling at him through the haze of her lashes, rather than strangling him with the nightie she never ends up wearing. Yeah, Mello has this way about him, and Matt doesn't even mind being woken up on their supposed days off (Sundays, when a startling quantity of Ross's men head to Mass where they sit in pews and bolster a morality which their priests might not ultimately agree with) because on those days she rises from her dreams to the warm tickle of Mello's fringe against her breasts.

On all the other days, Matt invariably ends up staggering behind him into the bathroom they share, and more often than not she'll already have the hot water pounding against her back before she's even entirely aware that she's actually moved. After all this time Matt still has no idea how he does it, but there's not much point complaining; Mello is Mello, and he has all the strings to her soul wrapped around his fingers like a puppeteer, end of story.

Days like today, when her slowly waking mind can already visualise the sheer amount of work she has waiting for her, Matt lets the water slam against her back and she washes her hair. She puts her feet, one at a time, against the tiles on the wall and shaves her legs, lazily ignoring her knees and everything above them, but paying attention to her ankles; Mello likes to sit with her of an evening and toy with her feet. That aside, Matt makes the most of this interlude between sleep and genuine wakefulness. Crisply spoken words reach her beneath the water. Mello has turned the radio on, but she can still hear him piss over the sound of the news. Kira doesn't even merit a mention in the headlines, a fact which would make her skin crawl if she allowed herself to ruminate on the bastard before she's had caffeine, which she doesn't. People have accepted him, Kira. People have begun to see him as a fact of life (death). Or else they just fear him too much. Mello doesn't fear him. Nor does Matt, though she fears (_respects_, she phrases it out loud) the knowledge of what he could do to them with just the secret of their names.

The water of her shower goes briefly cold as Mello flushes, and she swears at him fiercely, more out of habit than anything else. She can hear him laughing as he washes his face at the sink. "You just about done?" he asks and, when she's rinsed her legs, she grunts at him in a way that could be taken either direction. Mello slides the glass door of the shower open and steps in, and Matt feels her customary love for the quality of the bathroom that Rod Ross has provided them with; in her old digs, the plastic curtain would have stuck wetly to at least one of them, in a space like this. Mello has his hair tied back and high to limit how wet it gets. Matt passes him the soap, watching him lather his arms and chest. Mello has never minded her watching him like this, but then, he's beautiful and he knows it. She grins at him, and shakes her hair like a puppy, just to get a reaction, drops of water hitting his own dry hair; Mello growls at her as she steps from the shower and drips onto the mat beyond it.

"You're the one who spends forever in there," she says, drying herself quickly, perfunctorily, the cold air slightly nippy. "I'll have the kettle boiled long before you're out." She goes back to their bedroom, leaves her towel in a damp heap on the floor, and wriggles herself into the knickers that Mello's particularly fond of, the jeans she wore yesterday, and the first shirt and sweater that her hands happen to reach. She gets as far as the doorway when she ducks back for socks, because the timber floor beyond is still slightly cool to the touch.

Matt is sipping industrial strength coffee by the time Mello wanders into the kitchen to stir at his cocoa. She wishes that Kira didn't wake with the caffeine and the chocolate, but work rises in her own mind, and she can see it etched in Mello's eyes as he leans back against the bench and rubs at his face. Matt plays the structure of the first database, which she knows she needs to get into, through her mind, rather than dwell on Mello's nemesis. She smiles when Mello's eyes rest upon her through the steam rising from his mug, though. She lets the database slip, as he steps over to her and begins to tidy up her unbrushed hair with the tips of his fingers. He places a kiss against her cheekbone when he's happy with the result. Mello has made Matt love her freckles, by sheer default of how often his lips touch them.

"You're such a girl," she teases, as he finds one last strand of hair to be re-arranged.

Mello smirks at her, running his hand down her side and then reaching around to cup at her arse. "Mmm? I'm not the one with the boobs, though, am I?"

Mello has a way to him, yes, but even if he didn't, Matt would still be smiling right now, just from the expression in his eyes. "Oh?" she says, the tone of her voice letting him know that she's not going to get pissy if he wants to shift that hand of his upwards and play his fingers beneath her top. Which is exactly what he does do, his mouth at her neck. He's actually taken her coffee away from her and has sat Matt down beside it on the kitchen counter, his hands making good use of the fact that she didn't bother with a bra, when there's a cautious knock on the door which separates their rooms from the rest of the building.

"What?" Mello barks, his voice sharp even as his hands continue to wander softly beneath Matt's sweater.

Matt can only just make out the answer from beyond the door, but it doesn't really matter; they both know that Mello would only be interrupted at this time of morning if it's actually important. Matt slips herself down from the bench, taps Mello on the nose and says, "You should probably go, Mels. I've got enough crap to get done today without you hanging around and distracting me."

"You like every minute of it," Mello purrs.

Matt doesn't deny it, just snorts and picks up her coffee again. She settles in on the sofa where she does most of her work, the table before it and the floor around it a mess of laptops and manila folders; almost everything the mob does for Mello, Matt checks over for him a second time, because Mello trusts Ross, but he doesn't trust the others. That's just how Mello is.

Mello finishes his cocoa in a few swills and brushes at her hair again, almost absently now, when he walks past. He doesn't look back as he pulls on his boots and heads out the door.

Matt just shrugs and wakes up her laptops, pulling her feet beneath herself on the sofa until she's comfortable, and finishing her own drink. Kira slides back into her mind as she glances at the news online, and she thinks that that's why she hates the murdering shit the most; not for killing L, though she'll never forgive him for that, nor even for commandeering Mello's life, but for the sheer, simple fact that he won't stay out of her head. Matt plays it over and over in her mind, the minute the apartment is quiet; just what it would be like if he ever were to catch Mello. She tries to tell herself that it's impossible, but she's a Wammy's child and the logic doesn't stop just because she wants it to. She knows it's a race, and she knows that the loser will have lost forever. Matt doesn't want to wake unless Mello is the one shaking her out of her dreams.

She puts her empty coffee mug down, and starts up a game. After all, one of the benefits of the mornings arriving too early is that the days are subsequently longer. She'll still have everything done by the time Mello returns. And right now there are some Orks bellowing for her attention.

"Get on wiv' it," one says.

She does just that, preparing to take out their enemies with cheerful precision, and smiles.

Matt has a way about her, too.


End file.
